Briar Goes to Hajra not the permanent title
by Adi1
Summary: Briar Moss knew very little about his past, save a few details that would get him nowhere if he were to try to find out more, so he never tried to find out more. Will a woman he meets in the Market change that? Discontinued.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Briar Moss, and all of the characters mentioned except one or two whom I have yet to name, belong to Tamora Pierce, as do the locations where this story takes place. I own the plot, though. :)  
  
Prologue:  
Briar Moss was not born in Emelan. In fact, he wasn't quite sure where he was born, though he guessed it was somewhere in Deadman's District in Hajra, Sotat. He didn't know when he was born, though he celebrated his birthday on the 19th of Goose Moon. The only things Briar actually knew for sure about his past was that he was somewhere around 18, that he had lived with his mother, whom he barely remembered (she had worked in an inn somewhere nearby), and not his father somewhere in Deadman's District in Hajra. He knew that his father most likely didn't know of his son's existence. He knew that his mother had been killed in a dark alleyway when he was around four, that he was shortly afterwards kicked out of where he lived, and that he had spent around six years after that in a gang called the Lightenings, using the name Roach, and stealing for the Thief Lord. After being caught three times, he was sent to Winding Circle under the supervision of one Master Niklaren Goldeye, met Dedicate Rosethorn, Dedicate Lark, Lady Sandrilene fa Toren, Trisana Chandler, and Daja Kisubo, found out he was a mage, along with all of the aforementioned people, and the rest was history.  
  
Outwardly, Briar cared very little about the gaping holes in his past. He hadn't even wanted a birthday, though his foster-siblings had insisted on him choosing one so they could throw him a party, and he had finally chosen the day he had officially gone from being "Roach" to being "Briar Moss." Inwardly, however, he did wonder where he came from. Who wouldn't? However, he had absolutely no way of finding out anything, so dwelling on this lack of information would be stupid. He did still wonder, though.  
  
Then, one day, Briar met an old woman who had owned an inn in Deadman's District in Hajra, Sotat, and his world was turned upside down...  
  
AN: So, what does everyone think of this story line? Would you all read it? Should I continue? Review and tell me what you think. If I get five reviews, I'll post Chapter 1. 


	2. Chapter 1

AN: *cringes away from angry glares* I'm sorry this took so long! Really, I am! Stupid real life got in the way! *thinks about what she just said* That's not a good reason, is it?. . . *frantically tries to think of another excuse* *can't* *hangs head in shame* So, anyway, on with the first chapter.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything that Tamora Pierce owns, yada yada yada. Suing is mean, especially when the person being sued has no money, so please don't. *puppy dog eyes*  
  
Chapter 1 (original, no?)  
  
Briar yawned and propped his head up with his elbow, using the wooden stall he was behind for support. He really didn't know how he had allowed himself to be talked into coming here today with Sandry. All he knew was one minute he was stubbornly refusing to help everyone in the market place the next day, and the next he was waking up before the sun had fully risen to help everyone pack. It was around noon, now, and he was the only one actually sitting at the stall. When he hadn't wanted to be here in the first place. Selling wares that weren't even his. Funny how life works, isn't it?  
  
Briar stared at the rings on the old wood he was leaning on, absently tracing one with his finger. He was bored. Very bored. And tired. And hungry. He continued listing all of his complaints in his head, including some involving annoying thread mages named Lady Sandrilene fa Toren that ducked out to look at wool the moment she could dump her work-load on her poor, unsuspecting foster-brother, until he was startled out of his thoughts by someone clearing their throat right in front of him.  
  
"Ah-hmmm." Briar jumped, cursed inwardly at himself for allowing his mind to wander, and looked up at the old, forbidding-looking woman standing in front of him. Plastering on his best smile, he reverted into "polite and well-raised young man" mode.  
  
"I'm sorry. I think I phased out for a moment. I hope you weren't waiting there long. Can I help you with anything?"  
  
The old woman's face went from one of severe sternness to one of merry laughter. She smiled at him. "Not at all, laddy. Only about two minutes. And I believe you can help me with something, if you're the one selling those cushions," she said, pointing to a pile of well-embroidered cushions to his right with one arthritic finger.  
  
"At the moment, at least," Briar responded, pulling a pile of the aforementioned cushions towards him and setting them up for the woman to see. Most of them were made of cotton, both because Briar could say most about them (he'd chosen the cotton for Sandry to weave himself) and because they were cheaper than the silk cushions. Judging from the way the woman was dressed and spoke, she wouldn't be able to afford the lofty prices Trisana Chandler, another of Briar's foster-sisters, had set for the silk cushions (merchant's daughter that she was). "What exactly are you looking for?"  
  
"Something with light colors, blues, greens and yellows, preferably."  
  
"How about this?" Briar suggested, pulling out a yellow cushion with embroidered violets on the front. "Cotton, well-weaved and strong, almost flawless embroidery."  
  
"Hmmm. maybe something with a little more blue."  
  
The conversation went on like this for quite some time. Finally, the woman settled on a blue cushion embroidered with a bright yellow sun and small birds flying towards it. Like most of Sandry's work, the birds almost seemed alive, and if you weren't paying attention, you could have sworn the sun was giving off heat. She ordered five.  
  
"You know, you look strangely familiar," the woman mentioned. "Have we ever met, before?"  
  
"I don't think so, ma'am. That will be four silver astrels, please."  
  
"No, I suppose not," the woman said, reaching into her bag to pull out the money for the cushion. "You know quite a lot about weaving, laddy," the she commented. "Special interest of yours?"  
  
Briar grinned and shrugged, "Actually, all the knowledge I have comes to me through association. The thread mage that made these, she and I are very close."  
  
"Are you now?" asked the woman, raising her eyebrows.  
  
"No, not like that!" Briar assured her hurriedly. "She's actually my foster- sister.'  
  
The woman, who had been rummaging through her bag again, looked up suddenly at the word foster-sister, and Briar cringed inwardly. He shouldn't of said that. Everyone these days associated that term with himself and Sandry, Tris, and Daja Kisubo, the fourth member of their group-of-sorts. "Lady Sandrilene fa Toren, perhaps? Oh, I've heard quite a bit about her. I don't know anybody who hasn't. Or her. . . interesting family." Briar sighed as the woman's eyes moved from his eyes to his hands. She was bound to notice that he had gloves on them now, with or without the charm that forced people to look elsewhere. Throughout the years, the four mages' peculiarities had become a trademark of sorts. The vine tattoos on Briar's hands, the living metal "glove" on Daja's, and Tris's hair, better known as her mage kit. To try to avoid being recognized, and therefore all of the stares and special treatment the four were bound to get, Briar had taken to wearing gloves in public (that or sticking his hands in his pockets and not taking them out), Daja, a glove on her right hand. Tris wore a kerchief on her head, as she had when she was younger, leaving only the two braids with lightening in them visible for emergencies.  
  
However, the gloves weren't going to help Briar any now. "Would that make you Briar Moss?" the woman asked, bringing her eyes up to the young mage's face again. Briar sighed. He wasn't going to weasel himself out of this one.  
  
"Guilty," he admitted with a sheepish grin.  
  
The woman suddenly took on an air of infinite politeness. "Very pleased to meet you, Initiate Moss. I must say, I've heard a great deal about you. My name is Tessala Wheelround and I run an inn in Hajra, Sotat, that my late husband started. I must say," she added, "I thought you were much older than you actually are."  
  
"Very pleased to meet you, Ms. Wheelround. Yes, most people seem to assume that the girls and I are older than we actually are. You say you run an inn in Hajra? What district?"  
  
"Oh," Ms. Wheelround said, waving the question away as if it were an annoying gnat flying around her head. "You probably have never been there. It's not exactly the. . . nicest part of Hajra."  
  
Briar grinned. "Actually, I used to live in Hajra, so I've been basically everywhere."  
  
"Really? Well, then, my inn's in Deadman's District." Briar stopped short. He hadn't said this to Ms. Wheelround, for reasons she had already mentioned (the place was a slum), but he'd actually lived in Deadman's District in Hajra.  
  
"Really?" he asked, in what he hoped was a nonchalant voice. "You're right about it not being Hajra's nicest district."  
  
"Yeah, but it's home," Ms. Wheelround replied, smiling. She narrowed her eyes at Briar suddenly. "Come to think of it, I know who you remind me of. A girl who used to work for my husband, named Adalleia. Beautiful girl, and smart, too. It's really too bad she ended up in Deadman's District. She could have made it big, if she had been given the right opportunities. Anyway, your facial features are amazingly like hers. All except for your eyes and nose, of course. Anyway, she died about 14 years ago, now. Well," said Ms. Wheelround, "I have to be on my way. Here's the money, and I'll take those cushions now."  
  
"Oh, Briar said, pushing Ms. Wheelround's story to the back of his mind to be mulled over later. "I'm sorry, but I only have three of these here at the moment. If you'd like, I'll just take down your name and the name and room number of the inn you're staying in, and you can pay me then."  
  
Ms. Wheelround smiled and nodded, putting the money back in her bag. "Alright, then. I'm at the big inn across town. Sheepskin, I think it's called. I'm in room #2B on the second floor. When can I expect my cushions to be ready?"  
  
"Within three days," Briar replied, jotting this information down on a piece of parchment. "I'll either have someone bring them over to you or deliver them myself at that time, alright?"  
  
"Sounds good," Ms. Wheelround said, smiling. "Good bye, then."  
  
"Good bye, and thank you," Briar replied, nodding. And with that, the old woman walked off, leaving Briar with quite a bit to think about. The young man sighed. At least he wouldn't be bored anymore.  
  
AN: Well, did you all like it? I hope so. Please review and tell me what you think! If you all like it, or at least if a vast majority of you like it, I'll post another chapter. And sorry about the long wait again. TTFN! 


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